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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558067">lessons in crying</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives'>seaofolives</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Gladiolus Amicitia, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Ignis Scientia to the Rescue, M/M, POV Ignis Scientia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:02:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There were several things that Ignis had learned to look out for in the duration of their road trip—their <em>journey</em>. The kingʼs irritability, the passing of the seasons, that sense of restlessness coming from a long drive… </p><p>And tears. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>Ignis finds himself in the unlikely position of teaching someone how to cry.</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Gladnis Weekend 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>lessons in crying</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were several things that Ignis had learned to look out for in the duration of their road trip—their <em>journey</em>. The kingʼs irritability, the passing of the seasons, that sense of restlessness coming from a long drive… </p><p>And tears. </p><p>No matter how deeply he slept, Ignis wasnʼt likely to ignore it on purpose or otherwise. As soon as he woke up, he checked on Noctis first and foremost, even though he knew the younger man would be more likely to brood on his own than to whimper when he remembered his father. Prompto was the more obvious candidate. Thereʼd been a week during the first part of their trip where the poor man could hardly sleep unless he cried himself to it. He had been scared, then, and uncomfortable and tired. </p><p>But heʼd gotten used to the life of a fugitive since, and when Ignis boosted himself slightly on his elbows, he could tell by his and Noctisʼ profiles that they were both having a drool contest, worn out by the last fight. So then, that left one last candidate—</p><p>Ignis pulled his eyelids shut and buried himself deeper into his bag when he felt the man behind him stir. He might have shuddered a little when that warm back moved away with the rustling of the sleeping bag, and then there was the careful sound of the tent door being unzipped amidst careful little sniffles. </p><p>When Ignis opened an eye slightly, he caught his thick silhouette fitting itself through the humble crack heʼd created. He zipped it shut once he was outside. </p><p>Ignis sat up carefully, then, keeping his sounds to a minimum as he crawled over to Gladioʼs side until he could extract himself from his sleeping bag. The man had left his book next to his pillow, as well as his black leather jacket. </p><p><em>Quite the unusual emergency, then,</em> he concluded while he adjusted the heavy jacket on his shoulders, having worn it like a cape. The fact that Gladio got up in the middle of the night at all was already something unusual but <em>normally</em>, when he did, it was to tire himself out with a book or a couple of stretching exercises. </p><p>He doubted it was either tonight. Ignis slipped on his glasses, paused for a second when Noctis turned to his back and scratched his cheek (and muttered, “Ignis, letʼs go fishing…”) (which was an improvement from, “Ignis, no vegetables…”), then finally opened up the tent to slip out into the night. </p><p>And stop—and doubt himself, heart jumping. Gladio sat by the fire, on the ground, dressed only in his tank top and trainers. By the blazing light, he could trace the weary shape of his shoulders behind which his head sunk into his hands. By the silence of the night, he could pick up his boyish sobs, the tight gasps of his breath… </p><p>Ignis felt shaken. Heʼd seen the man shed a tear or two, of course; for all his strength and tenacity, he <em>was</em> still only human. But he couldnʼt remember the last time he had seen him so broken and lost, or even heard stories of it. Gladioʼs coping mechanism was quite different from the rest of them—where they might choose to linger on loss or disappointment, he was comforted by a sense of action. Whatever was needed to undo the damage, to make sure it never happened again, he would commit himself body and soul to it. It was his revenge, his way of overcoming his hurt. So to see him now like this… </p><p>To call it disconcerting was quite the understatement. </p><p>Normally so sure of himself, Ignis hesitated now. He could think of one obvious reason as to why the man had come out to cry: he would risk stirring them all awake inside the tent, and if they caught him, he would have to explain himself. There was nothing wrong with that, of course—they werenʼt the only ones who lost something in the fall, so had Gladio. But for a man who called himself the <em>Shield of the King</em>, who had been trained all his life to be strong, and to give without taking…</p><p>Crying may very well be the one thing he never learned. </p><p>“Gladio,” Ignis called him, as softly as he could as he started to approach. </p><p>But it was still enough to startle the man whose voice cracked when he replied, “Yeah?” while rubbing his fists on his face. Desperately trying to regain that composure heʼd always been known for. </p><p>“Itʼs quite late,” Ignis noted to him. It would be best not to mention his sadness. “You canʼt sleep?” </p><p>“No, Iʼm—” Gladio refused still to face him. All of a sudden, he pressed his hand to his side and grunted, twisting to the same direction in an artful display of pain. “It uh…itʼs the wound, umm…the cold makes it hurt, yʼknow?” There were several things that Ignis had learned about the man in the duration of their road trip: one was that he loved him. Another was that he had a toe that clicked permanently when he folded it, following a rowdy playtime with his sister when he was 15. And last but not the least, Gladio spoke out his mind not because he spoke from his heart… </p><p>But because he was a shitty liar. </p><p>And a worse actor at that. Figures he would be the type to detest stealth missions, preferring to charge right in since the end result was more or less the same, anyway. Still, if this was what Gladio needed to feel better about himself… </p><p>Ignis returned to the tent, reached inside for his first aid kit, then zipped up the flap. This time, he let nothing stop him from his approach, until he was sitting right next to Gladio who watched the dancing flames as if spellbound. “Let me see,” he told him. “Face this way.” </p><p>In the same way that Gladio didnʼt like beating about the bush, Ignis was just as likely to cut to the chase. He was already bringing out the usual items—antiseptic, gauze, tape, alcohol—before Gladio had convinced himself to follow through with his lie. The man shifted his heavy bulk. “I told you we should have just used a potion.” </p><p>“And I told you we gotta save them for Noct.” Gladio lifted his shirt to reveal a patch of bandage on his waist. After dousing his hands in alcohol, making sure he kept it away from the fire, Ignis began to pry the tapes free. “Weʼve only got a dozen left and the next outpostʼs about 2 hours from here…are you wearing my clothes?” </p><p>“I left my blazer in the car and Noct is wearing his jacket. Hold on, donʼt move.” Once the adhesives were undone, Ignis could peel the cloth easily from the skin, revealing an abrasion and the bruise it sat in. A result of that surprise daemonic attack literally just within sight of the haven. Ignis was no expert in these matters but he could tell even at a glance that it was healing well. </p><p>He knew, also, that this was hardly the worst injury Gladio had sustained. That honor belonged to the long scar on his chest, despite which, he had rushed back to Lestallum to reunite with them, engaging on a hunt despite his lack of sleep. </p><p>Still, Ignis remained quiet about his childish griping. He applied a piece of gauze onto the antiseptic, and then dabbed it gently on the injury, hardly inciting a hiss of pain at all. Necessary evils. </p><p>Finally, he tore open a fresh pack of gauze pad and placed it on the wound to tape it. Done. “Feel better?” </p><p>“…yeah,” the man croaked. The worst lie yet—Ignis knew from experience that no one felt better immediately after having their wound poked at, Shield of the King or not. </p><p>But he started packing up, anyway. “Thatʼs good to hear,” Ignis said. “Shall we return to the tent, then? Itʼs a bit chilly out here.” A rock-like silence returned to him. He didnʼt expect anything otherwise, he didnʼt come out here just to participate in a charade. </p><p>“Nah, Iʼll,” Gladio pulled his shirt down, “think Iʼll stay out here for a bit.” </p><p>“You will?” Ignis turned his face up to him, keeping his features soft. Gladio pressed a thin line onto his lips and nodded, tossing his hands a little between crossed legs. “Then may I join you?” </p><p>Gladio chuckled, breaking out in an easy smile. “You donʼt have to, Ignis—” </p><p>“Iʼm disinclined to go back on my own knowing that you will be out here on <em>your</em> own, Gladio,” Ignis interjected. He distracted himself briefly with the bottle of antiseptic, shaking it by the light of the fire. Theyʼll need to add this to the shopping list. “Besides, without you beside me, I will be that much colder.” </p><p>“W, well, whatʼre you gonna do out here with me?” Gladio shrugged. This time, at least, he looked honestly clueless. </p><p>“Talk,” Ignis replied easily, looking at him. “We can talk, can we not?” They always talked, both of them. </p><p>But not tonight, it seemed. Tonight, Gladio pulled his eyes back to the campfire as he sighed, shoulders sinking again. He was cracking; Ignis was chipping at his mask little by little. Patience was not one of his greatest virtues for no reason. </p><p>He waited for him to speak. Gladio returned to him, then straightened up. Heʼd noticed something, that posture said, and brought his thumb to the corner of Ignisʼ lips, brushing gently on the bruise. Another souvenir from the last daemon. “Yeah, but do you want us to take a look at this first?” More lies, more dilly-dallying. </p><p>Ignis wouldnʼt be surprised if he was ready to drag this out until daylight. He drew a smile on his face, turning it to Gladioʼs concerned hand. “Itʼs a bruise, Gladio. It will fade on its own.” </p><p>“No, no, no, I wanna take a look at this. Cʼmere.” Gladio pulled the kit towards him and shifted forward. Ignis had no choice but to play his part, then. If he didnʼt just love the man… </p><p>He inched himself closer, watched with full patience as Gladio sifted through the contents of the bag until he found the ointment. “Donʼt forget to disinfect,” he reminded him. </p><p>“Right.” Gladio had. He rubbed alcohol in his hands, scraped a bud of the medicine onto his finger and then applied it in circles along Ignisʼ bruise, leaning closely. </p><p>If anything, this farce at least highlighted the gorgeous cut of his jawline. Firelight danced in his amber eyes. “You know, it might have been faster if youʼd just kissed it.” </p><p>Gladio snickered through his slow grin. “Putting on moves, Scientia?” </p><p>“<em>Youʼre</em> putting on moves, Amicitia,” Ignis teased back. “Do you feel better, then?” </p><p>Gladio nodded, taking his finger from the injury. He rubbed his hands together, then wiped them on his shirt. “Yeah. Donʼt worry.” He tossed the ointment back with the medical stuff. </p><p>“Do <em>you</em> feel better, Gladio?” </p><p>Gladio started to laugh, pushing down the top of the kit. “I just said—” </p><p>So Ignis reached past him to put his hand on his chest—his heart. “Here. In here, Gladio.” He brought the manʼs attention to it, then. “Or shall we take a look at this, as well?” </p><p>Gladio may be stubborn, but he wasnʼt keen to play the fool for long. And for that, Ignis couldnʼt help but feel grateful. Gently, he alighted his hand on Ignisʼ, as if to hold it closer. </p><p>“Iʼm really okay now,” Gladio told him. “You should go to sleep.” </p><p>“And yet youʼre still sending me away,” Ignis sighed out quietly. “What is it, Gladio? Please, wonʼt you tell me?” </p><p>“Nah, itʼs…” Gladio started to laugh again. “Seriously, itʼs nothing itʼs…itʼs just stupid.” </p><p>“You told me all the pranks you and your classmates got up to, Gladio,” Ignis countered, pulling himself much closer until he was knee-to-knee with the man. “And those are quite stupid, even juvenile. So why shouldnʼt I hear this one?” It was a sound argument for him. </p><p>Would Gladio take the bait? Ignis could see it on his face that he was considering all the options he could take, how to escape his corner. </p><p>With another breath, Gladio finally relented. His features fell, his hand bringing both of theirs to their feet so he could run this thumb over the hills of Ignisʼ knuckles. “I read something sad in the book, thatʼs all.” </p><p>“Thatʼs not stupid,” Ignis chuckled, squeezing his hand. “People cry at romantic comedies in the same way they cry at tragedies.” </p><p>“I guess,” Gladio smirked, though the expression looked ashen. </p><p>“What happened in the scene?” Ignis was ready to draw this all out if he had to, one question at a time. </p><p>Gladio shook his head. “The main character finally came home to his motherʼs house after a major plot point. She met him in his bedroom which she kept even after he moved out, and they talked about the past. See, there was this…” He gesticulated with his free hand. “He has this wind-up chocobo toy from when he was a kid, and he bought it using the money he stole from her wallet. Because she wouldnʼt buy it because heʼd failed his test and they needed the money to buy food.” </p><p>The first sniffle came through, then, but Gladio soldiered on, though he couldnʼt raise his eyes from their hands. “So…when she went out to borrow a sewing machine, he ran off with the money and bought the chocobo. When he got home, his mother was upset—” The first gasp. Ignis sought to comfort him with his other hand. “She was in the kitchen and he knew she knew what he did but she just…she just told him to get ready for supper.” Gladio squeezed his eyes tight. “Just like what Dad did once…” His father. </p><p>The last Shield of the King who gave his life to the kings—the old and the new. Ignis…shouldnʼt have been surprised, of course. Even though Gladio never talked about his father, knowing he was killed in the line of duty, as if that made his death right and good, he was still his father. Still the man who raised and trained Gladio to be the Shield that he was now. </p><p>But perhaps that was exactly what surprised Ignis: having been raised to expect his and his fatherʼs death at any moment, <em>Gladio never talked about his father</em>. Until now—when some piece of writing that was meant to be fantastical had opened up a wound inside him that would not scar. Perhaps a wound he never knew was there until now. </p><p>“It was a book,” Gladio choked, breathing hard. “It was a stupid book, I hated it in the end but I risked my fatherʼs trust for it. After I spent all my allowance on another stupid book, I ran home, took his money and ran back to the bookstore for this one. I wouldnʼt admit to the theft when he found out so he grounded Iris and I…then that night, he came up to my room, asked me if it was a good book and…” </p><p>He pulled his hands back to his face and curled tight. “He told me just donʼt tell my sister…! Oh gods—” Ignis grasped him by the shoulders, then, and pulled him to his chest so the man could wrap his thick arms around him. “Oh gods, I miss my dad, Ignis. I fucking miss my dad!!” </p><p>“Iʼm sorry,” Ignis hissed, shutting his eyes to keep his own tears at bay while he lashed him in his own arms. Gladio clawed at his shirt, pulled him tighter. “Iʼm very sorry, Gladio.” </p><p>He couldnʼt say if Gladio was still listening anymore. In his chest, he let out a long howl, trusting their embrace to muffle him. His tears and his saliva soaked through his shirt. </p><p>This was the only way he could do it, Ignis realized. In secret, and in hiding. He sniffed back his own tears, wiping his cheek. </p><p>While Gladio wailed, pouring his heart out to Ignisʼ heart, Ignis pressed his trembling lips to his hair, and rocked them both. How the Shield of the King quivered like a child in his arms, pulling at his shirt…poor man. His poor Gladio… </p><p>He wondered if this was only the first time he was ever allowed to cry.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this fic actually went through a number of transformations in my head before it settled into smth closer to my heart. ❤️ gladio's story about the book he read and what his father did were actually directly inspired from this story i heard in the national showa memorial museum in tokyo and the one my aunt told me about my grandmother, who i miss everyday. so i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it! o///</p></blockquote></div></div>
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